


Loving You (Is The Worst Way To Get To You)

by Holmesify



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F, Happy Ending, Long-Distance Relationship, Sharing a Bed, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 12:18:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12935127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holmesify/pseuds/Holmesify
Summary: Bernie Wolfe is fed up of pining. Her heart finds a solution before her brain has a chance to catch up, and her big mouth takes care of the rest.Serena hasn't seen the last of her, even if she is on the other side of the world.





	1. Tuesday

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly, this manipulates the show’s timing a lot, because I only watch(ed) the Berena scenes so I have no idea whatever else is ever going on. So just go with whatever version I present. This takes place after Serena's last episode.
> 
> Secondly, this is my first foray in to femslash, which for me is a big deal. I’m a baby gay (-ish) in a very sheltered environment, and women with other women like this is a very new thing for me. I'm in this alone. So please be kind.
> 
> Title from The Worst Way, lyrics from Portland, Maine, both by Donovan Woods.

_I don't want to be talking on the phone every night._

_Six PM, which time-zone, yours or mine?_

 

☂

 

There were times in life when one just got on with it, and there were times in life when one just felt more introspective than usual.

It was the weather, or a particular song playing on the radio, or a recent event. Or it was nothing, no particular reason for the slow but steady shift to a more emotional state of mind. It just was what it was. One morning Berenice Griselda Wolfe was an iron lady busy saving lives, returning to a microwave meal shared with an invisible partner, and not thinking very hard about life in particular, and the next morning she opened her eyes, yawned, and felt at once a lot like no longer existing. Much to her own surprise, she wept. Then she got up, washed her blotchy skin a more steady shade of red, and went to work.

The weight lingered.

At work, Bernie performed to the same exceptional standard, but without a sense of fear, or pride, or whatever emotion saving lives ordinarily inspired – she found it hard to remember, and harder to give a shit. It was a strangely peaceful morning, nothing remarkable, but gratitude was another emotion that she hadn’t the energy to recognise. She just about managed to speak when spoken to, and forgot not to take her break as she used to. Instead, she told Morven that she would be back in ten minutes, smoked a third of a cig on a wet bench behind a hedge, and stared at her shoes until 11:16 AM. When she went back in, it was to World War III. A patient was streaking around the hospital naked searching for his ex-wife, having escaped from the bed to which she had secured him earlier. For the first time in her life, Bernie just stared at the ensuing pandemonium before making someone else deal with it.

Her shift ended at 6 PM. She told everyone that she’d see them tomorrow, but knew without knowing why that she wouldn’t.

She felt so … _heavy_.

Heavy, and so tired. Exhausted beyond belief. _By … what?_ She had to ask herself as she sat in her car outside a house in someone else’s name, in which someone else’s nephew waited for their dinner. _By life altogether?_ And where did that leave her, if so? What sort of a future was there for someone for whom a (second, third, hundredth) fresh start was laughable? Surely it wasn’t time to go on the run _again_? Had it even been a full year since she’d left the Army?

But yes. It had. A year and more. And what a year it had been.

 _Great._ Memories of Serena. The very last thing that Bernie wanted.

With a groan, she snatched up her bag and stormed inside.

 

☂

 

Bernie and Serena Skyped every other night, various things permitting, and tonight was a Skype Night. Serena, Bernie knew, was somewhere in the Czech Republic at the moment, which was an hour ahead of the UK. Life was easier for them since she had started touring Europe (having begun her sabbatical as far from England as possible without leaving planet Earth), not just because of the similar time-zones but because, Bernie prayed, it meant that Serena was closing the distance. It gave Bernie something to look forward to for the first time in a long time, and a life without such hope was no life to live. Not that it was doing much for her present state of mind, which was thoroughly fed up. But Serena didn’t have to know about that.

“Hi.” She smiled her first smile of the day as Serena appeared on the screen, blurry but as beautiful to Bernie as ever. “How’s you?”

“Bernie,” Serena replied. “Not bad, not bad. Signal is shit. Can you hear me?”

“I can.”

“Can you see me? I can hardly see you.”

Technology was not Bernie’s _forte_. Nor was it Serena’s. Bernie tried tilting her laptop, then got an eyeful of herself frowning down at it with a huge triple chin. She shot out of view to sort out her 8 PM bed-head as Serena’s brittle laughter floated out of the speaker.

“Shut up.”

“Nice.”

 “It’s not my fault. I’ve had… a day.”

“As have I.” Serena launched in to a tale of her adventures as a British tourist in Not Britain, entertaining but without much enthusiasm behind it, which was to be expected from someone whose zest for life died along with her daughter. “So I just went hungry, in the end,” she finished. “How about you?”

“Erm, there were a lot more naked men than expected.”

“Oh?”

Bernie told Serena a highly-embellished version of the story of the patient with the ex-wife, forcing the tone of her voice to some sort of overly light pitch that sounded, in the end, slightly stupid. Serena listened with a smile, but was frowning herself by the end of it. “So,” Bernie finished, picking at a silken thread on Serena’s bed. “Yeah. Love _is_ blind.”

Silence. Then –

“Are you alright, Bernie?”

“’Course I am,” Bernie blustered. “I’m just tired. I just… miss you.”

Ah, yes. It was that time of night.

“I miss you too,” Serena said. “It’s harder every day, isn’t it?”

“To be apart?”

“Especially at night. When all I want to do is… “

Bernie hung her head, understanding. _Be next to you. Hold you. Touch you._ “Yes.”

Serena gave her a pixelated half-smile. “I’m working on it, Bernie. Coming back.”

“There’s no rush,” Bernie reminded her for the thousandth time. “I promise. I just want for you to be – ”

“Happy,” Serena provided.

“And healthy, and – ”

“Healing, I _know_.”

“It’s just – it’s my main priority,” Bernie implored.

“And mine. Don’t worry.”

But Bernie, in spite of herself, wanted more. “It’s just that – I _do_ miss you, Serena, today more than most – and you have to understand that it’s not easy for me to stay behind to pick up the pieces, but that’s not to say that I want you back. Wait, no. What I mean is, that’s not to say that I come first in this situation, because I don’t, because you do. Saying that I’m finding it hard without you, in whatever sense – I’m not _implying_ – I’m not trying to make a point. I swear. I’m just saying it for the sake of saying it, you know?”

“I know, Bernie. I know, darling.”

 “Swear to me – “

“I swear.”

Bernie sighed. She felt the fight slink out of her at Serena’s wonderful voice. “Thank you.”

“Communication.”

“ _Now_ we may move on.”

Serena laughed around a yawn. “Thank you.”

“What time is it?” Bernie yawned back, not that she didn’t know but as part of their routine.

“Around 10 o’clock.”

“Gosh. Tired?”

“Extremely.”

“Bed?”

“Bed.” Serena at this point was often ready, whereas Bernie, one hour behind if not more, would start preparing for bed herself once they had finished.

“What’s on for tomorrow?” Bernie asked as Serena tucked herself in, if only to stop herself from imagining joining her.

Serena vanished, then everything went black before a lamp was switched on. The image now was not as visible, but a lot more intimate. “Heading to Prague. Conference on Thursday evening.”

“Lovely place.”

“Yes, well,” Serena mused, in a sour voice that reminded Bernie of bad times, “I wouldn’t know about that.”

Bernie reminded herself that it was the late hour speaking. “No.”

“Right, then.”

“Good night, Serena,” Bernie whispered, and loved her even more.

“’Night, Bernie.”

They kept their eyes fixed on each other until the very last moment, and then the call ended.

Bernie stayed there for a while, staring at a square of black, pondering. What she wouldn’t have given to join Serena in that moment. What she wouldn’t have given to be _held_ , just held, as they slept the night away. She sighed, folding herself forward until her head touched the bed, and tried not to let the first tear touch the striped fabric. When the second tear slid from her eye, she gave up trying to gulp back her fractured heart. _Oh_ , how _miserable_ she was. How wretched she felt, searching for something _just_ out of her reach. What had reduced her to this simple stretching, wanting, yearning thing? A thing that… yes, Serena would turn her nose up at? Now that she wasn’t reaching back?

Major Berenice Griselda Wolfe permit herself one last pathetic sob of longing. Then, in her scrubs, on top of the made bed, she tucked half of a blanket around her and sniffed herself to an exhausted, itchy-eyed sleep. She would wake up with a snort at 1 AM, wondering where she was, but for now her soul wanted a break. And so she rested, remembering nothing. Blessed relief. And so too, in some far-away place, did Serena.

Two tear tracks drying in the cool of the night.

 


	2. Wednesday

_Ain't gonna worry where you are, who you're with._

_Let's just agree, this is it._

 

☂

 

The next morning, Bernie phoned up to say that she wouldn’t be in, however short the notice. She had started with a plan to just let whoever was on the other end of the line know, no making up excuses, one of the few pros of her position in the hierarchy – but she ended up knowing the person, who then informed her that it wouldn’t be as much of a problem as she was expecting because Ric had just returned that morning from his holiday with Françoise. “Oh,” she said, and then remembering that she was meant to know, “Is he in his office? Would you put me on, please?”

“Bere _nice_ ,” Ric sang, and even over the phone he sounded like a man with a sexy French lady friend with whom he’d just spent a naughty escape. “How are you on this fine morning?”

Bernie stared out of her window at the threatening hail. “I’m not even going to ask.”

Ric laughed. “Fair enough. But let me just say – ”

“Ric! I don’t want to hear it!”

Getting laid must have worked some sort of magic on the male mood, because Ric laughed for a second time. “Alright, _alright_. Let an old man have his fun, eh? Don’t you at least want to hear where we went?”

“Hm. That’s a tough one. Paris?”

“ _Paris_ ,” he belted, with the French pronunciation. “City of _lurve_. Got it in one.”

“It’s ‘city of _light’_ – “

“ _Non, je ne regrette rien,_ ” Ric started to warble, and Bernie hung up with a slam.

To an abruptly silent bedroom, Bernie shoved her face in to her pillow and screamed. Some times more than other times, it felt like everyone but her was high on love. Even fancying someone was exciting enough, and at the moment she didn’t even have that going for her. Making small-talk with new Junior Doctors about her (fake-sounding) long-distance, long-term lesbian lover did get a sympathetic sigh out of some of the younger ones every now and then, but it wasn’t the same as experiencing the joy of a burgeoning romance with someone right there in front of you to soak it up like a sponge. She often found herself with nothing to say to people with love lives, now that her own was gone. With an invisible partner, and everyone busy stretching to plug the hole to remember the person making it, she was nobody’s first person to go to for help. Or even, sadly enough, to gush to. Serena’s leaving was viewed as a highly sensitive topic that even the freshest F1s knew not to bring up, however much she at times nearly _wanted_ them to, at least to give what she felt some sort of outlet. Alas. She was the sounding board only for gloating when a shot at love worked out, it seemed.

So. Paris.

Bernie held the pillow tighter, imagining what it would be like to take Serena to Paris – old Serena, pre-bereavement Serena, though she hated herself for making the distinction. Serena was probably no stranger to Paris, nor to Paris in love, but maybe Paris with a _lady_ love was new. With a woman to listen to her, and spoil her, and put her first. A woman to _know_ her. It was simple. A woman to show her how a woman should be treated. Men were not exactly famous for such behaviour. Edward surely wasn’t. Then again, Serena had probably had many a lover before her ex-husband, not to mention a few since. Robbie was nice, objectively speaking, if somewhat… in the way. He had probably taken her somewhere at some point, treated her well. But… as well as a woman would?

Oh, she was having a laugh. This was going nowhere.

Bernie got up to start her day at home, but the idea of seeing Serena again in a place that wasn’t _here_ would not leave her mind. Neither of them had ever mentioned Bernie joining Serena instead of Serena returning to Bernie, and she would bet that Serena had never even privately _entertained_ the notion. There was enough on the woman’s mind as it was. Maybe… it was time for Bernie to take the first step. Maybe, this was their medium. Serena would hate it, but would never make Bernie turn back. They would be forced to tackle their situation, head-on, before either of them were ready. But… what was ‘ready’? Bereavement had no time for ‘ready’. _Love_ had no time for ‘ready’. Life was short enough.

It was short enough.

Bernie laughed at herself whilst packing the washing machine with overdue laundry. Pleading with Serena to tag along on her therapeutic sabbatical was out of the question, because Serena would point-blank refuse, not least because it was a stupid idea. Just turning up was out of the question, neither of them were great at surprises. That just left negotiating. With a fading flicker of woman with enough on her plate as it was without having to pander to a new partner who just _wasn’t understanding_. But truth be told, Bernie had had enough of trying to _understand_. It was what it was, and what it was was shit. No more to it than that. What she had with Serena was not a one-way road, it was a give-and-take. Oh, they _gave_ – there was no problem there. But they were, it had to be said, the worst two people for taking. Just reaching out, and saying _Hey, I want this from you, is that OK?_

Bernie tried it out. “Hey, Serena,” she said to the tea-stained towel on her lap before it joined the rest of the laundry. “Serena, I was thinking,” she told the end slice of bread as she scraped the last of the margarine over it. “Surprise, Serena!” she belted up at the shower head, which started to spit in response.

_“How about I stop waiting?” “What would you say if I joined you?” “I know that this is probably a huge mistake, but here I am!”_

No, no, no.

By 4 PM, Bernie had finished polishing the house to a level of perfection that would put Buckingham Palace to shame, mediating over what to say with each swipe of Serena’s old nightie, and was none the wiser. She tucked herself in to the sofa with a beer, fancy new tablet balanced precariously on her lap. Her finger hovered over the Skype icon. _Should she? Should she not? Should she? Should –_

_Calling…_

 “Not yet!” she shrieked, almost launching the tablet across the room before remembering the price tag – but there was no answer. She tried once more in spite of herself, knowing that there was no point but enjoying the sense of power that taking a risk with no consequences gave her. Until –

“Bernie?”

Bernie nearly shot out of her seat. Before her was a blur of white, then a fair amount of shaking, then Serena appeared wearing a bewildered frown.

“S-Serena!” Bernie squeaked, leaning over the tablet, showing only the top half of her head, not minding that the view was hardly flattering to say the least, because plucking up the nerve to lift the thing up to hold it in front of her, as if this were a proper call, was completely beyond her. “What are you doing here?”

“You called me,” Serena frowned. “About… five times. I just got in. What is it? Is something wrong?”

Bernie remembered then that because they had spoken yesterday night, today was for giving each other space, as was how they alternated it, and felt a fool. “No, Serena.”

“Then…” Serena started, then seemed to re-evaluate her original sentence, and said instead “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“No reason,” Bernie blustered, and then – “Oh, _Serena_.”

“What? What is it?”

With a heavy heart, Bernie hung her head. “It’s stupid. I know. I get it, I do.”

Serena blinked at her, said “One second,” then vanished. There was some sound in the background, like someone hanging up their jacket, placing their bag down, removing their shoes – _you are such an inconvenience_ , each noise told her. She was mortified. She watched the great expanse of nothing in front of her with a wince, hearing a familiar pouring, before the tablet was at last picked back up. Serena was situating herself properly on the sofa, wine at the ready. “Go,” she instructed, her tone no-nonsense.

Bernie went. She launched in to a monologue much like the one from last night. She talked about how frustrated she felt. She talked about how _frustrating_ _she_ felt, to which Serena said nothing, and how frustrating Serena was, to which Serena had slightly more to say. It was a relief, in some way, to hear Serena fight back, to not let the first problem signal the end, as Bernie sensed her _fighting_ the urge to just give up, fighting _hard_ – but in some other way, it encouraged Bernie to push on, talking _at_ her, talking _to_ her, until she found herself imploring, “Serena, let me come to you. I have to be with you. This isn’t working. _We both know it_. Isn’t it worth a try? Just for one night? Please?”

Serena’s eyes were hard. “You’re sure about this, are you?”

“I – I – ”

“That you’ll come to Prague with me, and we’ll spend the night together, and all will be right again?”

 “Of course I’m not sure. Of course I’m not. I only thought, I just think – ”

“It’s worth a try.”

“Exactly,” Bernie exhaled on a near-sob, then – “What?”

“It’s worth a try.” Serena shut her eyes. Exhausted, or at the end of her tether, or a mix. “Václav Havel Airport. 10 AM tomorrow. Be there. Or don’t,” she said, and then the screen went black.

It was Bernie’s turn to blink down at the tablet in shock. One second later, she was wiping her eyes, and buying herself a one-way ticket to Prague.

 


	3. Thursday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how a conference works, and I don’t care to know either. I’m just a kid. So if I’ve got something wrong, allow it.

_See, I'm just saving us some trouble somewhere down the line._

_This kind of town you just leave behind._

 

☂

 

As soon as Bernie arrived at Václav Havel Airport, she realised that arriving in the morning was a bad idea. It was 10 AM, and Serena went to bed at around 10 PM, which meant that she would have to find something to do for 12 hours. There was the conference, of course, but until then –

“Bernie.”

Serena was standing a few metres in front of her, swathed in a huge parka.

Bernie sort of fell onto her before she knew quite what she was doing. Her bag hit the ground as she leaned in to the not-hug, and she nearly wept when she felt a tentative palm pat her on the back in return. “Serena,” she said, not able to help herself. “ _Serena_.”

Serena cleared her throat, and Bernie felt a spike of something wrong that made her stumble back, which in turn made her trip over her bag. _Right, right,_ she reminded herself. _Take it easy, Major. One step at a time_.

“How was your flight?” Serena was already turning to leave.

Bernie wanted to sulk. She wanted to tease. She wanted to ask where her kiss was. Instead, she said “Fine, fine.” She reminded herself that she was meant to be the positive one. Her whole body was seizing with how awkward she felt. _Say something. Just say something._ “How was your… journey?”

“It was yesterday.”

“Yes.”

They emerged from the building. They blinked up at the piercing white sky. Serena turned to Bernie. “Taxi?”

“To?”

“To where I’m staying?”

Bernie smiled. She knew that it was probably more of a grimace than a smile, but her mouth refused to move in the right way. “Serena, are you alright? Is this alright?”

“Yes, darling,” Serena replied, a reflex, not a proper response, as she already had her head stuck in the open window of a waiting taxi. “This one. Get in.”

And Bernie, realising that if she had to start picking her battles, this was not the one to pick, did just that.

 

☂

 

It was a simple space, just warm enough, with a big window leading to a short ledge that served as a standing balcony. The only problem was –  

“There’s only one bed.”

“Yes,” Serena said, the tone of her voice sharp. “Problem?”

“No, of course not.” It was a relief, not a problem, but she wasn’t (yet) suicidal enough to say that. She threw her bag down, then perched on the end of the bed with what she hoped was a big smile. “So. Here we are.”

“Yes,” Serena said, having to stay where she was standing now that Bernie was using the only available place to sit. “Erm – just for the one night, yes?”

“Yeah, the conference is at 4 o’clock, then we’ll come back here, then get on a plane tomorrow morning.”

“To?”

Bernie let her eyes twinkle as the gave the side of her nose a tap, trying to ignore the jangling in her stomach. “It’s a surprise.” _A surprise that’s never going to work._ _What was I thinking?_

“Right.” Serena glanced out of the window for a second, then shot her a tight smile. “So. Until then.”

Bernie felt herself shrivel. “Until then,” she started, slowly, trying to give herself enough time to improvise some sort of plan – “breakfast!”

“Breakfast.”

“Yes. It’s what you eat in the morning.”

“Is it.”

“It is.” Bernie sensed her own smile faltering at the tension with which Serena was holding herself – Christ, the woman hadn’t even put her bag down – but she had no energy to plough on. This was stupid – Serena was miserable, and _wanted_ to be miserable, and she was wasting her time, and now remembering what breakfast with Serena used to be like, and making herself just as sad. She sighed. “Never mind, Serena. “We can just – ”

“No, no. Erm, it’s. Fine. Breakfast is fine.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” and then a long pause, and a second “Yes.”

“OK. That’s fine.”

“Bernie – ”

“It’s _alright_ , Serena,” Bernie said, standing up, having had just about enough of the whole situation. It wasn’t yet 11 o’clock in the morning, and she already wanted to just go to bed. “It’s alright. Let’s just go, OK?”

Serena nearly jumped as Bernie marched past her. “Where – where are we going?”

“A café. I saw it on the way here. It looked nice. Is that OK?”

“Yes – ”

“Then let’s go.”

She felt more than saw Serena’s nod, and then they were heading to the lift side-by-side in silence. The weather was stupidly glum, and when Bernie saw how tired Serena was she just wanted to tuck her in to her side but had no idea whether or not Serena would welcome it, and Serena at this point just wanted to be held without having to talk or move or even _exist_ but felt that she owed it to Bernie to at least spend some time with her like this, and they reached the foyer without having spoken of either desire.

Then, as they left the hotel, Serena flicked her scarf over her shoulder, shrouding everything but her eyes with the material, and it was – just like that – easy for Bernie to push her way in for warmth, just gently nudging herself to her side, as they marched along. They ignored each other for the most part, but a few minutes later Bernie moved to point at a squat building about half a mile away on the bank of the river, with a spray of ivy over one side and a picket-fenced seating area and a menu scrawled over the window in large white marker, and Serena gave a nod, and they moved on over.

Once inside, Bernie ordered two coffees in broken Russian whilst Serena pointed to some pastries. They waited in silence for their order, shifting around the bustling heap of people piling in for shelter from the misery of a wintry Czech morning in December. The café was warm, near-humid as people sat steaming, pushing and shoving and smudging patches of heat over wet surfaces, but busy – very busy – and Bernie realised that they would have to brave the weather for the single table outside if they wanted to sit down. She sent Serena with her pastries to grab it, watched her to the sound of machines whistling sharply as they frothed milk or poured liquid. How graceful she was, how measured each motion. How much pain she held in the hunch of her back as she had a seat, placing her bag on the ground before gathering her jacket over her chest with a shiver. She had turned her seat side-on to watch the river instead of the table, but Bernie, wanting instead to watch Serena, tucked herself in properly as she set their coffees down.

“Ah. Thank you,” Serena said, bursting to life with a sharp jerk. She reached for the mug and, as she held the hot porcelain to her mouth, the steam rising from it obscured her. “It’s brutal out here,” emerged her voice from behind it.

“I had no idea how busy it would be in there, I’m sorry.”

“What, a whole month here and you had no idea?” Serena’s voice was sharp.

Bewildered, Bernie said “What?”

“On secondment.”

Bernie gulped. “That was… Serena, that was Ukraine.”

“Same thing.”

“No… ” she started, then left it. Serena was trying to pick a fight, or testing her, or some variation thereof, but this was no time to rise to the bait. She tried to relax her eyes, which had narrowed, and had a strong sip of her coffee. The dark heat of it steadied her at once, as she hoped that it would Serena. This was exhausting, but it would be worth it in the end. It _would_. Maybe some baked delicacies would help…

As Bernie munched on, and Serena stared down at her mud-specked shoes, a silence shrouded them. It wasn’t a harsh silence, but it wasn’t easy. The noise from the café was barely noticeable from here, and instead they were left to the far-away yap of a dog, the slick whisper of water, the bluster of the wind as it thrashed around them. It was a remote area, flat and grey, and this white noise suspended them in a sort of blank, muted place wherein neither woman felt much like speaking. There was a fog that had to lift first, held by the tension in Serena’s neck, or maybe the _tap-tap-tap_ of Bernie’s leg against the leg of the table that was steadily winding even her up.

One of them had to relax.

And at last, as Bernie gave up entirely on praying that Serena would eat with her, and drew the emptying plate over to her side with a heaving sigh that she hoped that Serena would somehow sense, since she was busy watching the ground as if it were an ECG monitor, she saw the side of Serena’s mouth nearest to her twist to form a shape that Bernie knew well. It was Serena’s _OK,_ _fine, I lose this one_ grin, more of a grimace than a grin but _just_ bright enough, and it never failed to provoke a similar response from Bernie.

“What?” Bernie smiled in spite of herself, subtly pushing the plate back as Serena turned. Their eyes met for the first time since ordering.

“Me. Sat here, with you, like this.”

“What about it?”

“I’m not exactly the best – ”

“You’re just fine as you are.”

Serena exhaled noisily. “Why did you bring me here, Bernie?”

“For breakfast, of course. It’s… nice.”

“It’s fucking Arctic, is what it is! Look at us both. Your lips are practically blue!”

“Let them be blue. I’m enjoying myself.”

Serena eyed the plate, on which a single pecan twist remained. “Yes. That much is obvious.”

“Excuse _me_ – ”

“Everything OK out here?”

Both of them nearly shot up at the presence of the waiter, startled. A second later, Serena managed a mangled “Fine, thank you,” albeit in the wrong language, but the boy by then was moving on to the next table, taking the plate with him.

“So much for breakfast,” Serena said, staring forlornly down at the empty space.

Bernie gave a peal of laughter that surprised her. “Yeah. So… more coffee?”

Serena smiled. “Why not.”

 

When Bernie returned, Serena had turned back to the table.

Bernie sat, pushing a mug over. They enjoyed the peace for a while without speaking while Bernie went over how best to broach the subject in her head enough times to nearly forget where she was. She was practising her lines one more time, mouth moving but no sound emerging, when she saw in her periphery a swathe of flesh flash by – Serena’s waving bringing her back out of her head as it sharpened to focus.

“Are you back?”

“Back? From where?”

“From wherever it was that you just went to in your head.”

“Oh. Ha,” Bernie smiled. This wasn’t how it was meant to go, but it wasn’t too late to salvage the situation. “I was just … thinking.”

“About?”

 _Here goes nothing._ “This. Us. Here. Coffee by the water-front.”

“What about it?”

“It’s just, it’s very… How… ”

“Quaint?”

A beat of silence, and then – “Parisian.”

There was a pause, before Serena’s eyes narrowed at Bernie over her mug as she blew at the steaming surface. “Now, there’s an idea.”

Bernie gulped. “Paris?”

“Paris.”

“It’s… very near England,” said Bernie, picking at the linoleum on the table, realising that it meant starting to head back, and that maybe Serena wasn’t ready. She felt a fool for mentioning it. “Maybe… we should wait. Save the best ‘til last.”

“Oh, where’s the fun in waiting?” Serena replied, overly light but sounding sincere, as if she were persuading herself as much as Bernie. “Paris at this time of year is… ”

“Just as cold.”

“Ha! Yes, alright. But… ” Serena paused, turned to watch the river for a long second, the light in her eyes retreating as she went to some other place in her head. “Worth it.”

“Yes.”

She turned back to Bernie, not to speak but to show that she was listening. Bernie, faltering, ploughed on around a mistimed bite of _loupák_ –

“I just… I’m not saying to go as a tourist. We’ve done that. It’s not the right time. I just had the idea of staying in an apartment in the city… somewhere with a proper balcony, maybe. Fresh breakfast. Bread, cheese, grapes – ”

“Wine.”

“Wine. Walking along the Seine at night. Waking up to the sound of an accordion… ”

Serena laughed. “More like a pigeon.”

“Whichever. It doesn’t matter as long as I’m waking up next to you.” Bernie glanced up, heart beating fast.

Serena stared back, but for a moment gave no reaction. There was pain in the lines of her skin, a strange solemnity to her eyes, but at the same time some sort of shift beneath her features that spoke of a surge of grief noticed, packaged up, and put firmly to the back of her mind. She managed a weak but genuine smile. “I’d like that.”

“Yeah?”

Bernie felt a palm land on top of her blistered knuckles, providing a brief respite from the sting of the wind. Serena’s smile widened. “Yeah.”

 

☂

  

They went for a walk after breakfast, a slow one, linking arms – well, Bernie linking an arm around Serena’s, which hung limply by her side until Bernie moved it herself to link her back. _One step forward, a thousand back_. Never mind. Serena was going with her to Paris, which was more than Bernie had hoped for when she first saw with her own eyes upon landing how far Serena was from healed. She made herself relax, hoping that Serena would sense the tension leach from her and let her own go with it, and they walked like this for some time – around a field of friendly horses, over a lake, by a skate park, sometimes talking, sometimes not. It was pleasant. Not in the same way in which she would ordinarily enjoy something with Serena, but it _was_ pleasant, somehow, and it was more than enough for her to just enjoy the moment instead of examine it. She gave Serena, emerging from a public toilet looking perplexed (Bernie had moved to a bench further down to re-tie her trailing laces), an extra encouraging grin, and to her relief Serena reflected it without hesitation.

And just like that, it was 3 PM, and time to head back to the hotel for the conference.

 

Four hours later, the whole thing was over. Bernie was trailing out of the suite with everyone, one eye on trying to push her bulging folder back in her briefcase next to some of Serena’s files, the other on tracking Serena, a few paces ahead of her, having an lively exchange with a surgeon from a hospital in the US. She let herself be jostled about as she hung back, tuning out snatches of noise from the people piling past her, a sour taste in her mouth at the fact that just over two hours’ worth of medical talk had managed to do for Serena what Bernie had been trying to achieve for nearly a year. _So that’s how it is_. _And how exactly am I meant to work with that?_

But in a way, grudgingly, it made sense – here, Serena had no tragic back-story. Here, she was just another professional, with no-one but Bernie to make sad eyes at her, or treat her like she were made of some sort of excruciatingly fragile material that would splinter to a thousand pieces if blown on, and no time for her to do either. People back home saw _Serena Campbell,_ _Woman With Dead Daughter_ , whereas people here saw _Serena Campbell,_ _Surgeon At Leading UK Hospital_ – and Bernie knew which title she would prefer were she in her shoes. For an hour or two, Serena was able to forget her miserable personal life in favour of her flourishing professional, and Bernie was in no position to begrudge her this temporary escape. The folder slid in at last, and she picked up her pace. “Serena!”

Serena half-turned, before parting with the surgeon with a friendly pat on the shoulder that spoke of the usual pleasantries traded, mostly in the form of promises made that neither one of them intended to keep. When Bernie reached her, standing on her own, staring at his vanishing back, her smile had faded – but in a weary way, not a sad way. It wasn’t yet seven o’clock in the evening, but Bernie felt shaky with fatigue herself, and knew that Serena should be – Bernie shivered – put to bed at some point. “Doing OK?” she managed.

“Yes, just – ” Serena’s sentence turned to a huge yawn that echoed about the emptying space around them. “Tired.”

“Oh dear,” Bernie laughed. “To the lift with us, then.”

“To the lift.”

The heavy plod of Serena’s worn-out form behind her as they went to the lift then along to the room was not just endearing but somehow soothing. Bernie felt at ease as she let them in, and felt the same sort of ease in Serena – they were (at last) at the point at which the only thing on each mind was a big, plush, warm bed in pitch-black silence. They left everything where it landed, and Serena had the first shower without protest, Bernie stretching out on the bed with a lot of smart ideas but not a single ounce of energy left with which to flirt. Then it was her turn to go in, and she washed herself as she used to in the Army, fighting with herself to remain upright as the lingering scent of Serena in the steam mingled with her own thoroughly exhausted state of mind.

Bernie emerged from the shower ten minutes later, just as evening had melted to night, and Serena’s mouth just parted. Her hair was slicked back with water, and the water sneaked along her neck, and over the slope of her sternum, and she wanted to drink from it. She was wearing a thin grey pyjama set and _Christ_ , the shape of her, the wondrous shape of her, she was driving Serena wild. _Stop staring_ , she told herself, but her eyes were having none of it. It was – _nice_ , to know that what she felt for Bernie was going nowhere. It was no longer new, but it felt just as right as it first had, and that was more than enough for now. She let herself smile.

“Are you laughing at my pyjamas?” Bernie said as she walked around the bed to her bag.

“What!” Serena barked, and then noticed as Bernie bent down to flip her hair over her head that they were nearly threadbare. She held back a laugh. “No, no – they’re sort of just what I expected, in a way.”

“Oh?” Bernie lifted her hair to give Serena the side-eye, then winked and started brushing, and Serena was left to enjoy the view until Bernie finished, tidied up, and got up to fold herself in to bed.

They lay like that for a while. Bernie, having flown in that morning (and, it had to be said, having not experienced recent trauma) was a lot sleepier than Serena, and just about managing to hold herself there on the edge for her, not wanting to be long gone if, bolstered by the night, Serena wanted to say something at some point – it felt like that sort of night. _A night for patience_ , she vowed. A night for the bed to be just the right temperature, and for her to have _just_ enough blanket to trap the heat around her… and for the silence to slide over her like a hug… and for the mere _presence_ of her favourite person next to her to… to…

 

“Bere _nice_!”

“Yes!” Bernie blurted, floundering as she re-surfaced not twenty minutes later. “I’m awake! What time is it? I’m awake!”

“Oh, I woke you – ”

“No, no.” She shot up, to make a show of Being Awake, head swirling, then realised that Serena was lying down and lay back down herself. “I was just… resting my eyes.”

“Of course.”

“What’s wrong?”

Serena’s voice floated out of the dark like a wisp of smoke. “I was just… lying here, trying to sleep, and… ”

Strange, how brave the night made people. Bernie was on her side in a second, reaching out as her love’s voice thickened with emotion. “Serena. What is it?”

“Jasmine. I said – back at work, before she – I said something – oh, _God_!” And much to Bernie’s alarm, Serena gave a loud sob.

Bernie was over in a flash. Instinctively, she said nothing. Just held on tight as her partner broke down beneath her. She kept her grip firm, hoping that Serena found some form of relief in it, and stayed silent as Serena wept beside her for long minutes, streaming eyes staring at nothing. She sensed that there was to be no explanation now, if ever, and that either way she would rather not know – it was easier to heal from something kept private, in the end. So she just held on, until some time later Serena found the energy to turn to blow her nose, and wipe her eyes, and make the usual excuses.

A while later, as sleep pulled her under at last, Serena started speaking in halting tones of fault, and fear, and their future with each other. And Bernie, listening until the very last yawn, with the same sort of prickle in her periphery, shut her eyes, and at once was there with her.

And so they slept.

 


	4. Friday

_You don't know it yet, but you won't come back,_

_and I ain't going nowhere, and you know that._

 

☂

 

Serena opened her eyes and felt, for the first time in a long time, _safe_. She was warm, with an expanse of weight along her back, pushing slightly. Testing, she pushed back, and felt a wet sort of exhalation at the nape of her neck. Her flesh, prickled with sweat from the humidity of the bed, sang. _Bernie?_ She shivered, blinking slowly, just before registering the shift of skin by her wrist. Her eyes shot open.

_Bernie_.

Bernie was holding her. _Spooning_ her, properly, tucked together from thigh to thigh, shin to shin, her front plastered to Serena’s back with a random limb thrown over her stomach for surety. At some point during the night, Bernie’s unconscious self had evidently sought out human contact in the form of one sleeping Serena Campbell, and the Serena Campbell in question was certainly not complaining.

Serena let her eyes shut, taking a moment to store everything to memory. She listened to the silken whisper of Bernie’s hair behind her, her grumbles, her snores, and was in love, more and more and more in love with her, with each lazy pant. She wanted badly to turn around but found herself paralysed – until, without warning, Bernie’s hold tightened to the point of discomfort, and with an ungainly snort that spoke of a nightmare ending.

Loathe to wake her, Serena tried moving the thumb that had fastened itself firmly over her pulse-point, but was startled by a grunt and let go. Instead she started to shift, slowly, as if gentling some sort of feral animal, then turned herself over in one motion to face the woman head-on. “Bernie,” she said, voice hoarse for the early hour, but Bernie, her Bernie was –

Entirely dead to the world. Lashes firm, line of mouth slack, as flushed and limp and wrinkled as a babe. Serena poked her on the shoulder, noting that her skin was hot beneath her T-shirt, then withdrew as if shocked. Why was she _trying_ to wake her? Way back when, she used to _yearn_ for an embrace like this from the woman, half-mad with want every time she was just near enough – and here she was trying to end it.

 “Suit yourself,” she sighed, and nudged herself along until their noses met. Heart lurching at the proximity, she slid a palm over Bernie’s waist, just where the hem of her T-shirt met her navel, and left the other splayed over her shoulder. She tucked a stray wisp of wheat-blonde behind an ear, and held on, and felt strangely as if she wanted to sob aloud for fear that Bernie waking would precede the usual hasty flight. Tucking herself in, she promised to steal just a single moment more before liberating the woman.

Lightly perfumed perspiration. Hotel soap. Heavenly. _Home_.

A miserable heave escaped her. How torturous, to have to leave some part of her soul behind when she left this bed.

“Serena?”

Startled, Serena’s head shot up, and was met with a sharp blow. “Jesus – !” Pain glanced over her scalp just as she registered the lurch of Bernie beside her, the shout of surprise, and reached out on instinct to tug her back – “ _What?_ ”

“My nose – _ouch_ – ” Bernie groaned.

“Let me – you _scared_ me – _let me_ – ” Serena wrestled Bernie’s flailing form still, smudging at the smear of scarlet beneath the woman’s nose, nearly out of her mind with shock, brain racing to make sense of the situation.

“Oh God. Serena. My nose is broken.”

“It’s not broken.”

“My nose is broken!”

“It’s not – _Bernie_ – ” Serena was smiling, now, with no idea why, but her mouth was stretched wide, and her heart was pounding and God, _God_ , she loved her, how she loved her, and then she was laughing, no sense behind it, unable to stop, and then Bernie gave a great blast of a laugh in return, and _leaned in_ , and the moment quietened, and a solemn hush enveloped them –

– and Serena’s nail paused there, just underneath Bernie’s streaming left nostril, and realised that beneath it was her _mouth_.

One minute they were staring at each other, the next Serena’s vision was a wash of nonsense as Bernie leaned in and the mouth was pushed to her own. She had half a second to take in the sensation for what it was before her own mouth opened on a gasp, and was promptly met with a slick heat that sent a spurt of longing to the pit of her stomach. Shivering with near-delirium, she barely heard the moan that tore itself from her, where it was matched with a sort of surprised whimper from Bernie as a palm left her waist to land on her neck, holding her in place.

She was being _kissed_. By _Bernie_. _Bernie Wolfe_ was _kissing her_ , and she was flushing from head to toe like it was their first.  She felt in some way as if _were_ their first – something about the half-shut eyes, the mad thud of her heart as it hurled itself around with hope, for this woman and her squirming flesh and _her mouth on her mouth_ – and she felt herself responding as such, returning a grab that lacked elegance entirely, searching blindly for whatever was within reach. The lobe of an ear, which she pinched before moving on. A shift of muscle, lower to a pointed hip. Her mouth was smudged to one side as Bernie went for the neck, and Serena had just enough time to say her name, trying to ground herself, before Bernie was with her once more to eat up the sound. She gave Serena one final peck, lingering and wet and wicked, then moved back to stare at her again.

Serena just blinked. “Er … good morning to you too.”

Bernie’s only response was a frustrated groan as she heaved herself from Serena’s lap back to her own side of the bed, hiding her head. “ _Shit_ , Serena. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Serena felt her own surge of frustration at the idea of two mature women in a grown-up relationship having to apologise for sharing a kiss. How had they let it get to this? Of course, their situation wasn’t exactly normal, but it wasn’t as if Bernie had forced it upon her. They had flirted. Spoken every other night, intimately, since Serena had left. They weren’t even on a break. Whatever they had started had never properly _ended_ , at least not in her eyes. She had just taken the space that she had wanted. A kiss was _allowed_ , and she hated herself for making Bernie think otherwise. They were headed to _Paris_ , for Christ’s sake!

“What!” Bernie spat, and Serena realised that she had said the last part of her silent tirade out loud.

What a strange morning this was turning out to be. Serena gave up on trying to make sense of it. “I booked us a flight,” she sighed. “While you were asleep. I woke up at 3 o’clock in the morning, and I was just wide awake. I went on my phone, and… it was like an out-of-body experience. I have no memory of it. I must have wanted to surprise you, but I was probably trying to surprise myself more. If that makes sense. Our flight is at noon.”

“Our flight is at noon,” Bernie murmured to herself, and then – “Our flight as at _noon_?”

Serena winced. “I know. I went from not moving to moving fast. I am in my right mind, as hard as it may be to – ”

“No, Serena.” Bernie scrambled back over, grasping at her ferociously. “We can fight about it later, I promise. Look at the time. We have to leave. _Now_.”

“We’re going to miss our fucking flight!”

They leapt out of bed at the same time, swayed in the spot for a moment trying to orient themselves, then shot over to their respective bags.

Serena, relishing having a specific goal once more, and with no time to reflect on the situation, made a pact with herself not to deal with it until she was at the gate, and was first to the toilet. Bernie used the moment to fling herself out of her pyjamas and wrestle on her last fresh outfit, finishing just in time to replace Serena. She gave her a grateful peck on the temple as they switched places. In the toilet, Bernie stared at her reflection in the mirror above the sink, and made the same promise to herself.

If they wanted to keep running, they would run side by side. Together. Until it was time to stop.

 

☂

 

Half an hour later, Bernie and Serena arrived back at the same airport at which Bernie had landed just yesterday. Yesterday, however, was a lifetime ago. Hand in hand, they checked in, found their gate, and walked onto their next flight. One of many more to come.

This one, headed to Paris.

 


End file.
